


Serenity

by gr8escap



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Beefy Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Childhood Memories, Day At The Beach, Fluff, Gen, Howling Commandos (mention), Inspired by Art, Marine life, Motorcycle Bucky, Rebecca Barnes (mention) - Freeform, Sea Lion Rescue, Seaside, Shuri (mention), Steve Rogers (mention) - Freeform, Vacation, bucky is a softie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-14
Updated: 2018-06-14
Packaged: 2019-05-21 16:31:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14918895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gr8escap/pseuds/gr8escap
Summary: Inspired by art byPhoenixgryphonBucky takes time after saving the world (and the universe) to discover how to be alone with himself, finding time to relax on the beach near the end of his journey. He gets an unusual wake-up call before his first night is through and finds himself saving an unexpected someone.





	Serenity

With the sun setting over his left shoulder, Bucky rode north. The Harley motor vibrated beneath him and growled around him, acting as unexpected but reassuring company on this long trip. He’d pushed this last leg a little longer than the rest, not stopping to stretch his muscles. He’d wanted to be at his last stop by now, to see the sun paint its colors across the waves. He was still a couple of hours out, so he’d have to settle for watching the display from the highway. There would be more sunsets before his trip was over, after all.

At the view area, he steered the bike off the highway, kicking up gravel as he swung to a stop. He killed the engine and dropped the kickstand before swinging one leg over the bike. A groaning stretch broke the quiet and he had to adjust his stride to compensate for the rubbery feeling in his legs.

_Right, shorter stints on the bike for the return trip._

He waited as three cars passed, two from the south and one from the north, before starting across the highway.

Below him, the water lapped at the shore and the glimmering ocean surface reflected the oranges and reds of the cloud-dotted sky. He had only started taking the time to enjoy sunsets again after waking in Wakanda. They were something he’d always enjoyed growing up, one of the million things stolen from him.

_One of the million things he was going to take back._

This trip - just him, the bike, and the open road - felt like an important one of those things. He was a free man, after seeing and doing things the average fool couldn’t even conceptualize. With the help of some unlikely allies, he’d been able to have his status as a functioning American citizen reinstated, and surprisingly, that included Army back pay.

Now he was riding his own - legally obtained - motorcycle across the country of his birth. Perhaps too soon after the chaos that had dropped into their laps, but again, maybe not. There’s no time like the present. Especially when you’ve had to fight for the lives of the entire universe - in two different dimensions.

_No time like the present, when the past wasn’t yours to claim._

The thought occurred to him that he could leap the barrier and do some skidding down the cliffside to touch the water before the colors muddied into night. Then again, cliffs were not historically good to him; to be fair, this was nothing compared to the ravine, the bridges he’d crossed on this highway also not high enough to be compared to that ravine.

_He was being dramatic again. It was probably a good idea that he’d chosen to stop here._

Bucky took a deep breath of the ocean air and brushed an errant strand of hair from his face. He tucked it into the braid at his back, watching the sky darken. It was time to get moving again. His hostel awaited and he could still make it before the ten-thirty cutoff.

The gravel rolled beneath his feet as he pivoted. The road was clear for him to cross back to the bike. He pulled his leather jacket from the saddle bag and slipped his arms through the sleeves. Tugging the zipper up too far, he zipped it back down so that it lay open at the collarbone.

The motorcycle’s headlight illuminated the shadowy tree lined road and he felt the crunch of gravel beneath the tires more than hearing it over the roar of the engine. As much as he was ready to settle in for the night, he was actually glad that his timing had been shit for once. Letting go of conditioned responses and calculated expectations was liberating.

Hunger had Bucky stopping one last time, halfway between that last turnoff and his final destination. He sat on a bench overlooking the bay, eating fish and chips from a brown paper bag.

The aroma and the flavor were reminiscent of a dingy, crowded pub where he could be found laughing in a backroom, air thick with cigar and cigarette smoke. He and his friends crowding around a heavy wooden table, eating greasy pub fare, and imbibing as they planned their next moves. He could so clearly remember Steve sitting there, looking so different - and yet somehow the same - as the little guy Bucky had left behind. Big ol’ Steve, laughing at jokes Bucky instigated at his expense; taking a verbal jab at Dugan, and returning the favor when Bucky shared an embarrassing tale of a drunken Steve’s failed attempts with that one dame on grad night.

Bucky stuffed two fat fries in his mouth, amused by the memory from a lifetime ago. Many lifetimes. But hey, at least it was a good one, right? In fact, he hoped the rest of the guys had embraced the opportunity to sit around and remember the laughs. There had been quite a few amongst the chaos, come to think of it.

Shoving up from the bench, the muscles that had been used differently all day complained; some by spasming and others by refusing to be part of his body, making his legs feel like rubber yet again. “Gettin’ old,” he muttered, twisting the bag into a tight cord before tossing it into the covered trash can beside the bench.

As Bucky straddled the bike for the remainder of his last leg, he felt invigorated by a burst of cool ocean breeze beneath the full moon that illuminated his path.

  
Arriving at the hostel - a working lighthouse - in the moonlight was also well worth the delay. All was quiet except for the waves lapping at the shore and rocks below. Bucky breathed in the mild floral scent that mingled with the briny sea. He was reminded of his mother and how she would talk about their moonlit walks when she and his father were _‘sparkin’’_. He crouched down to touch the thick, succulent-like leaves of the plant as his mind wandered. He wanted to think she might be proud of where he was headed - even if she’d be heartbroken over the places he’d been.

Shaking away the melancholy thought, Bucky straightened up and followed the path to the residential building. After his long day on the road, he was looking forward to the bed that waited inside.

A heavy wooden door layered with paint (currently a deep blue) opened to a small, clean room. Bucky set his bags (and the clean bed linens he’d gotten when he’d checked in) on top of the soft blue comforter before inspecting the rest of the cozy space with a practiced - some might say paranoid - eye. The window on the opposite wall was judged safe enough, and there was a small table that sat beneath it with a lamp and a bud vase on a doily. A double-bed lined the wall to his left. Above it was a painted installation that jutted out from the wall several inches, which, on closer inspection, revealed itself to be a fold-down loft bed. Curiosity had him unlatching the loft bed, which wasn’t much more than a suspended cot, really, but it held promise.

Tossing caution to the wind with a single shrug, Bucky crossed to the window and lifted the sash. The swollen wood only budged a couple of inches, but it would be enough to let air in; he’d grown accustomed to sleeping with the evening breeze on his skin after spending his time recovering in a farmer’s hut in Wakanda. It was almost funny how easy it was these days, to do something like leave a window ajar after all of the paranoia. If he were being honest, the paranoia still surfaced occasionally. He was just glad that it wasn’t so often that he couldn’t simply enjoy nature’s lullaby amid a good several hours of sleep. The ocean air that wafted in would be welcome.

Bucky stood bracing his arms on the table, and peered out the glass into the darkness beyond. With night vision better than decent - thanks in part to the serum and the experimentation - he could make out ripples on the water beyond the rocks, but even with the full moon and the signature rotation pattern of the lighthouse beacon, there wasn’t much to be seen in the ocean’s blackness.

Bucky considered himself lucky; even this small space came with a price tag higher than he was familiar with and spending money was no easier now, though he had it to spend. Yet, he was glad and even proud that he’d taken this trip alone. Solitude wasn’t a new sensation, but his choosing this kind of solitude at this moment was - well, it wasn’t what anyone had expected him to want, least of all himself - but it was necessary. There had even been discussions. Stubborn Steve repeatedly asked him, “ _haven’t you been alone long enough?_ ” always with a light, teasing tone, but all of his concern couldn’t be masked.

“I’m coming back,” he’d smiled at Steve, flashing his travel info, “look, round trip.”

It would take practice, after all, but he truly wanted to see how the freedoms he’d enjoyed in Wakanda felt out in the world that he was going to have to start living in. The world that he’d finally succeeded at having a hand in saving. He wanted to make this trip on his own so that he could find his own boundaries with no expectations from anybody. This whole trip was only loosely planned (a place like this to crash - because he _could_ \- usually needed at least a reservation).

His soft hum filled the small room. If he stood dead-center and stretched his arms to both sides, Bucky wouldn’t be surprised to find that he could touch both walls. He was used to small spaces. All of his life had been spent in one or another, tenements, tents, cryosleep - well, that didn’t really count did it? If he wasn’t conscious of it, should he count it?

_The billion dollar question._

If it counted in other aspects of his life, he’d have to allow for it here too. Seventy years, give or take, minus the missions. Bucky shoved the thoughts aside before they could catch him up in their tangled web. He turned to face the bed, considering the chore of sheeting it versus climbing on top of the loft. Laziness won out over comfort, and he climbed up onto the suspended cot.

From aloft, he could still see the lighthouse beacon on the water. He yawned and plumped the thin pillow up, before folding it in half and tucking it behind his neck. He hooked his arm around the pillow and rolled onto his side, bracing his back against the wall. Bucky watched the light, memorizing its signature pattern, before his eyelids finally drifted closed.

 

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

 

Bucky was in that state of sleep where things could go either way; he could crash back out or be up again, no matter the hour. He could still hear the lullaby of sounds, gull calls mingled with the waves crashing upon the rocks, floating through his open sliver of window from beyond the cliff where the building sat. He tried to let the sound lull him. It should put him back to sleep. Even the growling sea lion bark wasn’t out of place. What pulled him fully from his half-sleep, though, was hearing increased calls and the crescendo of said barks.

He hopped down from the cot onto the firm mattress of the bed below him. Maybe he’d take advantage of its support and clean linens on his second night. He slid the soles of his feet across the cotton comforter that covered the welcoming mattress, and scooted to the edge of the bed. The room was light enough that he could see the shadows of his surroundings, and the suggestion of a curtain billowing away from the edge of the window. Stepping gently, Bucky’s foot landed half on smooth hardwood and half on the thick braided rug that lined the better part of the room.

His toes curled into the soft rug as a yawning stretch hiked his shirt up. His untied pajama pants slid down an inch with the contraction of his muscles. A groan accompanied the action; after a long day on the motorcycle that brought him to this peaceful spot, his muscles were talking back. He dragged his fingers through sleep-tousled hair, snagging a tangle half-way. Wincing, he worked the snarl free and looped the ever-present hair tie off his wrist to rein in the mop until he was ready to do something with it.

A sudden cacophony among the coastal wildlife noises drew him back on his path to the window. In the distant rocks, the sea lion’s barks became desperate. At first the window wouldn’t budge - he tugged at the swollen wood, whispering coaxing words as though that would will it to open, while hoping that he didn’t splinter the wood in the process. Splintering or shattering his rented window wasn’t how he wanted to start this stay. It finally gave way with a creak and Bucky opened the window wider so he could look out. Slate-tinged purples mixed with the deep indigo blues in the predawn sky. The view didn’t give any indication of the trouble, but that was definitely a sound of distress.

Bucky wasted no more time with stretches or waking rituals, instead he pulled a pair of shorts from his bag. He changed quickly before digging his sneakers from the bottom of the same bag. Carrying them out of the room in one hand, Bucky tugged the door shut behind him with the other.

He hopped along the trail toward the rocks, pulling one shoe on at a time. As Bucky approached the rocks in the dark, there was an anguished sound coming from somewhere on the large outcropping. Halfway between him and the boulders, he spotted one of the robust noisemakers. A mother sea lion was frantic. She rocked side to side, barking. Answering calls came from beyond the rocks. He didn’t need to look to see what had her riled up. He recognized the sound of a distressed mother and the panic coming from beyond the rocks was a painful, familiar déjà vu.

Bucky moved closer to the robust creature, mindful that her brown, button eyes followed him warily as she tracked his every movement.

“It’s okay, little mama,” Bucky breathed, putting his hands down at his sides. He corrected his posture carefully - not wanting to appear threatening while at the same time not giving any sign of weakness. It was a precarious dance, especially when performed while trying to scale slick rocks in the dark.

The showdown between man and beast ended with Bucky smacking bare legs on the rock as his foot lost traction. “Hydra’s greatest assassin,” Bucky grumbled. His slide was far from graceful and he was convinced Mama was now laughing at him, instead of worrying alternatively after her young pup’s state of peril and his possibly evil intentions toward her baby.

“Laugh it up, lady - I evolved and you didn’t.”

Bucky finally spotted the smaller sea lion - some baby! no wonder he got stuck - “You been teachin’ him how to hunt? Forgot the part about rocks and crevices huh?” He was just two more boulders away from where Bucky had just landed on his ass.

Slipping twice again before reaching a spot where he could formulate a plan, several curses escaped followed by a lighthearted, “Sorry ‘bout that, ma’am.”

Bucky could now clearly see where the pup was stuck and winded from its efforts. The pup was resting his chin on the rock.

“Hey there,” Bucky greeted the baby gently. “You tryin’ to wake the whole beach?”

Bucky lowered himself onto the furthest boulder, taking care to soothe the stuck pup. He sat next to the tense animal, surveying the rocks and the level of the tide. He didn’t have a whole lot of time for contemplation or they’d both be in over their heads. Literally.

“Hey, are you ready for a swim?”

Keeping an eye on both sea lions _and_ the task at hand wasn’t an easy trick, practically impossible at this juncture. Bucky hoped Mama would keep trusting him and that her baby would take the hint if his trap sprung. He slid down the rock, bracing both feet squarely against the opposite boulder. He pushed against it, trying to use his body to leverage the two rocks, and hoped he could make either rock budge at least far enough that the pup could swim free.

With the tide rising and the waves against his back, Bucky wasn’t sure this was his best plan ever - but the rock _did_ start to move.

“Okay little guy, you have to do your part here.”

His feet started slipping but he dug his heels in. The water crashed over and around the rocks, pushing against him but he pushed back, nudging the boulders apart enough for the pup to be able to swim with the rising swell. The young one did as needed, slipping out from between the rocks, and swimming free. Mama slapped across several rocks just feet away from them, barking her encouragement and approval.

Bucky was still getting used to being thanked for things he did and this was one time it didn’t feel unfounded. He watched the pup swim over to the safer perch his mother had found. With an unrefined grace, the pup made its way onto the rock next to the larger sea lion.

Soaking wet, Bucky took his cues from the wiser sea lion and made for higher ground, just in time to watch the water flood the crevice in the rocks.

 

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

 

It seemed a shame to go back to bed after the excitement. The air was just crisp enough to be energizing and the adrenaline wasn’t going anywhere. Bucky’s fingers shook ever so slightly, and there was a strong sensation - not unlike that of a swarm of butterflies - migrating from his chest to his stomach and back.

Bucky looked toward the horizon where a morning mist covered the rocks and rising water. As he climbed back up toward the buildings, the beacon cut through some of the fog. He rose higher, losing sight of the rocks where his early adventure had started. Having decided to  begin the day, he followed the dewy path back to his room with plans to gather everything he might want with him over the next several hours.

As the sun rose in the sky, burning off the cool mist, Bucky finished up his run. He stopped to remove his shoes, eager to stand within reach of the water that lapped at the shore. Across the way, safe from the water, he spotted his blanket warming in the sun exactly where he’d left it, almost exactly _how_ he’d left it, except now a corner was dog-eared, having been flipped by the breeze no doubt. He was taking liberties with everything today; from leaving his things behind in a room where the window was still ajar, to sleeping - and actually _restfully_ so - without having his guard up, and now leaving the rest of his belongings out in the middle of the sand. It didn’t even occur to him to wonder about these things before now. Bucky turned toward the water, letting the sun warm his back. He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath. The liberation he felt in the moment, the joy that rose in his chest, this might be a fraction of what the little sea lion family had experienced just hours ago, and yet it was — to him, it was _everything_.

As he stood, reveling in his emotions, the water encircled his feet. It washed up to his ankle and eroded the sand from beneath his feet. He dug the balls of his feet in as the wet grains climbed between his toes and massaged his soles. He stood firm as the water and the swirling ground beneath tried to uproot him. He did this several times; a futile challenge against one of the most powerful influences in the world: the sea. The last time he could remember doing anything this _unproductive_ , he’d been just a kid.

 

> Bucky and Steve held on to Becca’s waist as the trio stood together in the lapping water. She alternated between giggles and shrieks as she braved the experience of standing firm against the elements. They’d promised they wouldn’t let the water sweep her away, and she believed in them completely. Bucky looked up through a curtain of wet hair to see his little sister’s rich brown eyes wide with wonder and just a little bit of fear. Steve had his arms entwined around Becca’s waist and even at age nine, Bucky wondered if eight-year-old Steve was holding tighter out of a sense of heroic honor or genuine terror that he might be the one swept away. He’d never admit to the latter, of course.
> 
> Bucky planted his feet and dug in, vowing to anchor them all to the spot no matter what.
> 
> Giggles bubbled out of them all when the water receded. Steve stood up straight, tugging at this (too-big) woolen swimwear.
> 
> “That was fun!” Rebecca cheered. She was wet and glowing from head to toe. “Again!”
> 
> “Oh no, little Bee. You have to go back to Ma. You promised.”
> 
> “Aww, Bucky. Please?”
> 
> He laid his hand on her creamy shoulder. “Later. You have to find the umbrella for a bit. You don’t want to get too much sun.”
> 
> “Phooey! I want to be golden brown, I don’t give a whit about that.”
> 
> “Take it up with ma.” Bucky shook his head, locking eyes with Steve who was grinning. Ma wouldn’t ‘give a whit’ either, but calling his sister to sit under the sun umbrella was one way the boys knew his Ma gave them time _away_ from Bucky’s wild little sister.
> 
> She ran off, but not before poking her tongue out at her brother.
> 
> Steve sat down in a spot of sun-warmed sand, drawing his knobby knees up to his chin.
> 
> Bucky collapsed next to him, leaning against Steve’s bony side. “Thanks for coming with us.”
> 
> “Thanks for the suit,” Steve shrugged. “I thought it might fit better - but —”
> 
> “But I guess I stretched it out wearin’ it too long,” Bucky interrupted. “Ma told me I was outgrowin’ it.”
> 
> It was said with all sincerity, yet Bucky worried about offending his friend.
> 
> “Yeah, you never listen to yer ma, then wonder why Becca does the same.”
> 
> “Been listenin’ to Ma’s lectures Steve?”
> 
> “Nah. I can work that out on my own.” Steve grinned, bumping against Bucky.
> 
> They sat shoulder-to-shoulder soaking up the sun. Steve brushed wet strands of hair from his eyes and Bucky stretched to reach a nearby stick before leaning back against Steve, twirling it like a knife.
> 
> “You’ll put yer eye out —” Steve parroted their mothers’ wisdom as he grabbed the stick from midair and plunged it into the wet ground. He piled a cone of sand around the stick to create the crude foundation of a sandcastle tower.
> 
> Bucky shoved more sand at the meager fortress and they spent the rest of the afternoon creating a detailed fortification complete with an ocean-fed moat.

Bucky smiled at the memory as he pulled his wind-whipped hair back from his face. He faced the wind and let it blow over him. Before now, he hadn’t dared to think about finding Becca and now the thought was giving him ideas for the next leg of his trip. With his hands still behind his head, he stretched from his shoulders to his back, turning side-to-side, before walking out into the water for a swim.

 

After his swim, chilled from the water, Bucky had sprawled across his warm beach blanket, closed his eyes to the sun, and let the splashing, gurgling, slapping sounds combine in a white noise lullaby that lulled him to sleep in the warmth of the sun. When he awoke to the cooling breeze on his cheeks, he looked out toward the water’s edge, relieved to see that he hadn’t slept through low tide, since, according to the tidal tables, today would be the best day of his visit for exploring. He pushed up from the colorful blanket and stretched.

Making his way across the beach to the rocks, there was a languid peace to his steps as he watched his fellow hostel residents, families and younger couples, frolicking on the newly exposed beach. The senior crowd sat up the hill on the beach chairs that were nestled near the buildings. He didn’t have to look up to know that the two older women with their rosy cheeks tucked beneath floppy hat brims, who’d smiled at him as they chatted in Swedish, were still up there carrying on their lively discussion.

Bucky had already scoped out the exact spot he wanted to explore. The trail he’d run had shown him many great spots for exploring and for disappearing if one felt like it for a few hours. Now that the tide was falling, he made his way down the coast. He stopped beneath the natural bridge, a keyhole eroded in a wall of rock by eons of water. He stood in the shade of the arch letting the water swirl around his ankles. Just up the way he could see the rocks that were his destination, still covered by crashing surf. He waited for the water level to drop enough that he could scale the rocks to reach the coveted recesses. As soon as he could, he took careful steps over the wet rocks; causing the books in his pockets to slap against his thighs, which elicited a robust chuckle as he imagined the ‘old man’ jokes that his carefully wrapped sketch and tidal guide books would inspire in Sam and - God save him from Shuri if she knew. He found a clear spot where he could watch the teeming life forms as they went about their slow daily survival with little intrusion from him. He pulled his books and pencils from his pockets and unzipped the plastic bags that kept them dry. He just _might_ be a fossil, but his books and his day would not be ruined by a little bit of water.

He lowered himself into a seated position on the semi-flat rock, getting his butt wet in the process, and leaned forward to peer into the first exposed pool as the water receded. Concentrating on the constellation of three sea stars against the opposing rock — two were variations of russet and copper colors and the third, a single purplish sea star, appeared to be climbing over the other two with barely perceptible movements — Bucky put the open sketchbook on top of his field guide and started a rough doodle of the grouping. A thought intruded, but he didn’t spend _too_ much time thinking about how his doodle looked a bit more like a brain in a very unfortunate situation.

A bright slice of colored sunlight reflected off the still, clear water, distracting Bucky from his doodles. He’d never taken art seriously back when he was a kid. Always goofing around in their art classes, waiting for the life-model to disrobe. He thought it was more fun to joke with Steve about priorities. Bucky grinned. No wonder the guy thought he was a philistine.

He could put more effort into it, now, Bucky thought, shifting to a closer (and even wetter) area on the rock he’d claimed for his survey of intertidal life. He scratched lines of text between the doodles:

_I can relate to this place  
_ _The endless sounds of life beginning  
_ _— and ending  
_ _The shards of glass like memories - tumbled and etched  
_ _Each lost year a grain of sand  
_ _— — —  
_ _But together — it is hope. And peace._

Bucky wished for colored pencils when more of the ocean’s shimmering rainbow of tideland invertebrates were revealed. He’d have to drive to town for some, since his shortsightedness left him with graphite pencils and the off-white of his sketchbook, which were no match for the show on display before him. Colors would definitely improve his starfish (they weren’t called that anymore - sea star) doodle. As he weighed the options of interrupting his day or carrying on with his plan, his ears picked up the tiniest lapping sounds. He could only surmise that they were caused by the waving tendrils of a cluster of palm-sized jade-green sea anemone as the water level dropped. With this beautiful new discovery, he forgot all about the side-quest.

He tucked both books into one of the ziploc bags and eased onto his stomach on the rock. He watched for a while, propped on his elbows, with his chin in his hands, as the life within the little ecosystem went about its mealtime ritual.

The rock was cool and damp beneath Bucky’s bare stomach. He dropped his arms, hooking his chin over the cushion of his forearm, and the breeze flipped a strand of hair against his neck. He rocked his head gently, trying to quell the tickle, and caught his reflection in the shiny pool below him. Strands of hair fell over his forehead and cheek in waves. He lifted his head when he caught sight of his cheek puffed up from resting on his arm. He made faces at the reflection, which resonated with him as familiar. Not in the usual ‘this is my face’ way, but something older, more innocent. Teaching Becca how to make faces. He poked his tongue out at his reflection before settling back down again to watch the water and the creatures within it.

The brine scent in the air was replaced by an odd, fermented fragrance that set Bucky’s senses on alert. He scrambled up from his spot on the rock, taking his books as he rose. Within seconds, He saw smoke-like puffs out in the water. One, then another, and after a beat, a third. Bucky watched with excitement as three gray whales made playful, partial breaches less than a mile from shore. He moved along the rocks, toward the arch, barely taking his eyes off the spectacle as he made for higher ground. On the outcropping of rock, the one with the key-hole, he watched as the smaller animals leapt from the water, fully breaching three or four times, with the fifth and sixth jumps being only partial breaches.

He laughed joyfully at the display. He could feel their exhilaration; if he could launch his body completely out of the water so acrobatically, he might just do so too. The pod frolicked closer to shore, making another series of jumps as Bucky watched, enraptured. The young whales appeared to be competing as the larger whale spouted off a few times between the shore and her charges.

The whole thing seemed to simultaneously last for hours and end in a blink. Bucky sat down atop the natural bridge as the water calmed following a final tail salute from the largest of the trio. He could feel himself grinning like an idiot as he gazed out at the water. It was painted in rich jewel tones, each ripple containing its own glassy hue that came together in nature’s version of a stained glass sunset.

The still unfamiliar sensation of his phone vibrating in his pocket startled him. Bucky kept forgetting that he had the phone Shuri, Steve, Sam, and Natalia - Natasha - had insisted he take along; according to Sam, “Gramps here worries.” Steve was less cool, “in case you need --- “, and then there was Natasha, “ _it takes terrific pictures._ ”

Bucky laughed to himself at the unexpected interruption as it was accompanied by that damned _Star Spangled Man_ jingle. In the European Theatre, Steve would distract them both from fear of the unknown by whistling it even though they were supposed to be quiet in the night. When Gabe had started singing it every time Steve approached, Bucky had thanked Gabe for the laugh, because it was his subtle humming of the tune from Steve’s stage days that had gotten the song stuck in more heads than just Steve’s.

“Funny, Shuri,” Bucky half-laughed as he swiped to open a text from Steve.

— _How’s the trip?_

Bucky sighed, with a fond shake of his head. After considering whether he should answer now, later, or not at all, Bucky sent what he felt was an appropriate reply:

_— I hope that’s not code for ‘we need you to come’ and do something stupid._

Another several minutes of silence passed before he added:

— _Whatever it is, I’ll do it, as long as you have some info about Becca ready when I get there._

 

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

**Author's Note:**

> I want to thank the Cap Reverse Bang moderators, my wonderful artist, and my beta Lance - thank you for saving me from myself. This has been a great experience. Since my artist isn't on AO3 please visit them and let them know how you like the art (I was so thrilled that I was able to snag that piece for this bang)
> 
> Story completely inspired by art by [Phoenixgryphon](http://phoenixgryphon.tumblr.com/), including a few pieces I've seen on their blog. Check out all of the fabulous Beefy Bucky there.


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